"You thought everything that was wrong, of course. Men always do. Sir George Rolt thinks he is devoted to me at present, dear old thing, and that I am equally 'gone' on him, but he's mistaken, though it's great fun for us both while it lasts. Can you stand a shock, Mr. Philip Flint?"
"I can stand anything," said Philip doggedly, "except——"
"I know what you were going to say—except to hear that Stella never wants to see you again?"
"Exactly."
"Would it make any difference if you found her altered in another way?"
"How do you mean?" he asked, mystified.
Then Mrs. Matthews 'set to' as she would herself have expressed it, and for the space of five minutes she talked breathlessly, uninterrupted by Philip, who listened to her in greedy silence.
"There," she concluded at last. "Now, do you see?"
"Not altogether, I must confess. I don't see why Stella should have concluded that her appearance would have made the smallest difference to me, after my letter. It was very unfair to me!"
"Don't talk such trash. It was perfectly natural. She was too hideous for words until she got home; we came home together, and I made her put herself into the hands of an expert. Massage and treatment did wonders, but, all the same, poor dear, she will never be beautiful again!"